


Long Distance Call

by mellish



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Friends, Family Drama, Gen, Getting Back Together, Growing Up, Married Life, Martial Arts, Tea Ceremony, things are different now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-22
Updated: 2008-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellish/pseuds/mellish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They ran out of things to say, and the silence wasn't comfortable like it used to be. Written for the theme Song Prompts on ouran_contest in 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Distance Call

The last time they saw each other was at the family dinner in the main Morinozuka dojo, moving down opposite ends of the buffet table, amidst rows of salmon sashimi and intricate ikebana displays. The head of the household had asked that everyone come in traditional Japanese attire, so the room was filled with men in hakama and women in elaborate kimonos, giggling at each other and admiring sleeves, ribbons. Mori still towered over everyone, but not quite as much as he used to. It was apparent that his generation had gotten older and that soon they would be filling in their father's shoes, running the family business and seeing to it that their children would be fit to carry on the impressive family tradition. 

There was something strange about the young man lingering at the dessert end of the buffet table, piling coffee jelly and mango pudding onto his plate a little bit guiltily, as if he hoped no one was looking. He was blonde, his wavy hair swept back in a way that didn't really seem to suit his face. He was fairly tall and quite handsome, with an attractive blunt nose and a smiling mouth. The most striking part of his face was probably his eyes, huge and brown, wide-eyed with a sort of childishness that didn't seem to match the rest of him. Mori was about to move away from the desserts, satisfied with his little cup of crushed ice with strawberries, when the man looked directly at him and went, "Takashi?"

There was only one person who could address the current heir of Morinozuka _that_ casually, and even if the tone was two registers lower than it had always been, he couldn't help himself answering back, "Mitsukuni?"

There was a long pause - something not unusual in Mori's case, although he remembered that before, whenever Mitsukuni was around he had _always_ found it easier to talk. The silence wafted between them like something tangible in the air, rising up from the cups of hot miso on their plates. Then Mitsukuni's face split into a humongous grin, and he walked over to Mori excitedly, expertly balancing the jellies wobbling on his plate. "It's been ages! How are you?"

Mori had the sudden urge to run away, but as his family was hosting the dinner, he stayed in place and did his best to keep calm. He didn't ask _why_ the heir to the Haninozuka was present, even if he probably hadn't been invited (but he was jumping to conclusions there). He didn't ask when Honey had come back to Japan, and how long he had been in town. He didn't ask if Honey had kept in contact with anyone from the Host Club – probably because if the question had been reflected at him, he wasn't sure if he could answer that he did, but it wasn't through any real effort on his part. He didn't ask when exactly Honey had grown a foot taller and finally developed a baritone. He just smiled and said, "I'm fine, thank you."

Mitsukuni paused in his advance. Stopped himself. Mori could see the way he kept his shoulders from hitching like a practiced soldier, the way he eased out of being excited as easily as he had jumped into it. He smiled, but it was a tame smile, the sort Mori knew he used on acquaintances. "I see. That's good."

Then they made small talk. It was incredible. Here was the cousin who had practically been carted about his shoulders for their entire childhood together, the one he hadn’t seen in years, the one he still sat up some nights wondering about. And they just talked about the weather and the stock market, and how good the food was. They ran out of things to say, and the silence wasn't comfortable like it used to be. After a while Honey coughed and excused himself, said he'd better go see if his fiancee needed anything. Mori nodded and said, "All right." He didn't say, _I'll see you again_. He didn't ask for the young man's number. But just as he turned away, Mori couldn't help pointing to his plate and smiling a little, as if the pudding on it somehow contained a secret they still knew by heart.

Honey returned the smile, if a little sadly. Then he ducked his head and disappeared into the sea of guests.

***

Nobody expected the falling out between the two clans. It happened suddenly, with little reasoning on either part, but the way it affected the two families was incredible. Satoshi cried for days, and Mori himself did a lot of reflecting during that time, wondering when the ban to see Mitsukuni would be lifted because, surely, this was only temporary. They had never _not_ been together for so long. And he had _sworn_ to protect Mitsukuni, just as the earlier generations of Morinozuka had done to the earlier generations of Haninozuka. Surely an oath like that, tracing back decades, couldn't be overlooked; surely the family heads would work things out somehow. He sat in seiza, looking out at the garden but not really seeing, wondering if he could risk calling Honey. He knew it was probably just as bad in the other house, so he decided not to.

It was a good thing school had ended already, or else it would be too difficult to avoid each other, not to mention other people's questions. The names and dignities of their families were too important to them; it would be difficult to explain things while trying to abide by family rules. That was why he almost didn't find out that Mitsukuni would be leaving to go abroad, for his masteral degree, - wouldn't have known, in fact, if his brother hadn't rattled into his room, breathlessly, to tell him. 

He made it to the train station just in time. The Haninozuka private jet had been broken for a half a year already, and the airport was out of town. Honey could have probably taken a car, but this way would be faster, and _rushing things_ was how everything had been, lately: too quick, disorganized. Mori ran in, huffing and puffing, and immediately saw Honey standing on the platform, half-drowning in his luggage, looking lost. Mori sped towards him just as the automated voice of the conductor asked that all passengers board; he hefted up the two heaviest bags and lifted them onto the train. Honey had goggled at him. Then he had looked down at his feet and said "Thank you."

Mori had wanted to stay on the train, to ask if there was something he could do - something either of them could do. They were both fighters; they weren’t supposed to surrender this easily. But the conductor was blowing his whistle, and Mori had to step off, still fumbling for the right words. The train doors slid between them, casting sharp light over Honey’s face, obscuring everything but his mouth. His lips moved. Mori couldn’t tell if he had said _goodbye_ or _see you soon_ , or _it’s going to be all right_.

***

He didn’t feel right at Host Club reunions without Honey. He knew that the novelty of his long silences and heavy gestures wore off after awhile, and without Honey on his lap or against his shoulder or begging him for tea, it was very easy for people to run out of things to say around him. The rest of the members tried not to mention it, and pretended, for his sake, that nothing was missing at all. It didn’t really work. He still found himself making two cups of tea by instinct, and stirring too much sugar in the second cup, so that it was no longer drinkable.

Once, in the middle of one of Kaoru’s enthusiastic speeches about the fashion line the twins were planning to launch right after they graduated, Haruhi had touched his arm. It was a small gesture, and he might not have felt the light pressure if he hadn’t been so tense. He inclined his head at her, only just noticing the way her hair had grown out a little. He wondered if she had decided not to cut it as a good luck charm for graduation. He thought it looked quite nice on her, even if it took some getting used to.

“Mori-sempai, don’t worry.” Something about her words and her tone was awfully familiar. She looked him straight in the eye and said, “Honey-sempai will be safe.” It took him a moment to realize that she was repeating the words she had said that day at Kyoya’s indoor pool, when Honey had suddenly gone missing. He gave her a smile that said, _I know_ , and he patted her head twice. Something about her seemed unconvinced, but she didn't say anything more.

She still called on occasion, as did everyone else – Kyoya requesting his presence at company functions, the twins asking him to model their Edo-inspired line, Tamaki inviting him over for tea and senbei crackers. But time and distance got the better of all of them, and they fell into the routine of their new lives, filled with too many opportunities and not enough breathing space. He never learned where Honey went, although in the first few months he had received several postcards, hastily scribbled, without any permanent return address. _Dear Takashi_ , they would always begin. Sometimes Honey wrote about an interesting new fighting technique he had learned, or a funny quote in a different language. More than once the card simply read, _The cakes in this country are delicious. I wish you could be here to share them with me_.

The postcards stopped coming after about a year. It wasn’t too difficult to guess why.

***

He spent a lot of time teaching those days. Nobody expected him to be good at it, probably because he looked the type to be too hard on students, if he could be bothered to speak to them at all; but the young boys who came to him, aspiring to learn kendo or judo or aiki-jujitsu, respected him immensely and admired his strong and silent nature. He showed them the proper technique, complimenting them when they did things right, and telling them to try harder otherwise. There was a structure to martial arts that he sought refuge in. The patterns, the predictions, the inevitability, soothed him. It made him glad to think he could share this comfort with others. Structure meant no surprise goodbyes and no surprise hellos and no sudden falling-outs; it meant he could pace himself and not feel too bad about what-if's, because all he needed to focus on was defeating his opponent.

But even structure didn’t stop him from feeling his stomach turn every time the woman he was engaged to made him mango pudding or flan caramel. He didn’t want to upset her, so he ate them anyway, smiled at her appreciatively so that she flushed pink. The desserts always left a sticky taste in his mouth that wouldn’t leave, no matter how many cups of water he swallowed.

He should have asked for his number, at least.

***

They crossed paths again the following year, in the park. It was spring, just before official _ohanami_ season started. Some cherry blossoms had already begun to drift down, slowly and tentatively. A pink petal settled onto the surface of the tea he was drinking, and he stared at it, not sure if he was amused or annoyed. He decided that it didn’t matter, and watched the smoke rise up around the edges of the petal, marveling at the way it refused to sink or burn. He had made the tea himself, from what little he remembered of a tea ceremony class he and Honey had taken when they were barely teenagers. Honey had always spilled too much of the substance in his mixing, but there was a sweetness to his concoctions that made it nice to drink. The teacher had praised Mori for his refined and controlled stirring, but said that his tea always lacked taste.

He was remembering that when two fingers suddenly plucked the petal off the surface of his tea, without even disturbing the water. He looked up and saw Mitsukuni smiling down at him. (When had Mitsukuni ever been able to smile _down_ at him?) It took considerable effort not to let his jaw drop, or to jump up in surprise.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

He looked down at his lap, wondering if he dared answer. He had sworn to protect him and always follow him, and he hadn’t been able to do that, hadn’t tried hard enough to find a solution for himself, to cross the chasms that something as superficial as names had brought between them. They were supposed to know better than that. He didn’t know where to begin, if they could begin from anywhere at all, at this point.

Honey sat down beside him anyway. Stretched out his now-long legs and said, “Fancy meeting you here,” and before Mori had the chance to start another round of small talk, he added, “I missed you.”

Mori felt his breath leave him. He turned his head and looked at the man beside him, watched the way his hands moved through the grass on either side of him, like he was searching for clovers or flowers. And he realized that, despite everything, Honey hadn’t changed at all, and that, if he could forgive himself, neither had he. 

“I missed you too.”

There was a lot to talk about – new things they could try at sparring, tiramisu and cruises, Haruhi’s exciting first court case and Kyoya and Tamaki’s joint venture, Yasuchika, Satoshi, their fiancées, _reasons_ – but they found there was enough time for everything, and still more to sit in companionable silence, like always.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cool Phoenix song, by the way, if the title didn't give it away already. Thank you for reading! Comments are always greatly appreciated.


End file.
